Brothers Under the Sun
by Scarlett Barnes
Summary: In a world where Eragon and Murtagh have been raised by their fathers as enemies, their rivalry comes to a head upon the Burning Plains. (AU one-shot. Longer description within)


**A/N (sorry it's really long, but... necessary because this scene takes place in the middle of the AU):** This was originally written for a collection of AU one-shots that Fredo747 was putting together, but that project was put on hold. I received his permission to post my one-shot as a stand-alone from the project. All credit for the prompt goes to him. Here is the question this AU asks: **What would have gone differently if Vrael had managed to kill Galbatorix?**

My answer, although it's a long one, is this: I honestly, truly believe that if Vrael had killed Galbatorix, Morzan would have stepped into the role of Galbatorix and finished the job. I also believe that Morzan would have done a better job of it than Galby did. By that, I mean that Morzan—say what you will about him—was not nearly as insane as Galbatorix. He would have assembled the Forsworn, but he would have prevented them from killing one another to gain favor. It's almost certain that some of the Thirteen would still have died, but I think at least a few of them could have survived to see the events of the main conflict. Though they would need to be dead by the time of the final climax. Maybe Brom gets to take a few more down, or Eragon does. I haven't thought that far ahead. Anyways...

What this also means, however, is that Morzan would have undoubtedly raised Murtagh as his son and heir. This means that the Murtagh we are familiar with would be very different. He would have been more entitled, more powerful, and all around darker. I think Tornac would still have some place in his education, so those same ideals of honor and compassion might have been implemented, but his ruthlessness would definitely be amplified. I also believe that this means Murtagh would have been exposed to the eggs at a much younger age; probably the traditional age of ten. Whether Thorn were to hatch for him is a touchy subject, but I do believe he would. In essence, Murtagh would be the same character we've come to know and love, just with the darker aspects of his personality more prominent. CP has stated in interviews that Thorn was anxious to come out of his egg, and might not have been as picky as he otherwise would be, but he did see the positive aspects of Murtagh's personality. I believe this would also hold true in this AU.

In keeping with the construct of the original work, we'll just say that Selena still falls in love with Morzan, and the situation with Brom still happens. Even though it would have taken place in Uru'baen, instead of in the Spine. In this alternate timeline, I also believe that Brom would not have thought Carvahall to be a safe place for Eragon to be raised. After all, Morzan knew that was the place Selena was from, so it might be the first place he'd looked. Therefore, Brom likely would have taken Eragon and raised him himself, with the Varden wherever they might be at the time. In this situation, it's likely that Eragon would have known all along that Brom was his father, leading the way to him knowing about the history of the Riders, as well as his connection with Murtagh. And just as with Murtagh, it's very likely that Eragon would have been exposed to Saphira's egg at a much younger age; again, most likely the traditional age of ten. Brom would have trained him from this young age, and then they would have travelled to Ellesméra to finish their training with Oromis and Glaedr.

And so, when it comes time for the main conflict to begin, we have two brothers who are very powerful, and who have been raised in opposing environments for a lot longer than in the original work. We also have _much_ bigger dragons, considering Thorn and Saphira would be about eight and six years old, respectively. Now, the events that lead to Eragon coming out of his training in order to try and overthrow Morzan, and possibly redeem Murtagh, would be different. But without writing an entire full blown series, I can't really delve into that too much. Let's just say it still involved his uncle's death.

Now, I was also asked to include a short piece of creative writing to go along with the description of my AU. Unfortunately... I don't know how to write anything "short". But I'll do my best. In this piece, I'll be exploring what the brother's first meeting looks like, which will take place during the Battle of the Burning Plains. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Brothers Under the Sun**

* * *

 _Whose idea was it to stage a battle in this infernal place?_ Saphira asked angrily, shaking her massive head the way a wet dog would. Her voice drew Eragon away from his brooding thoughts.

 _I don't believe it was anyone's_ idea, he replied pointedly. _This just happened to be where our two armies met._

Saphira sniffed tentatively at the air, sneezing violently when the sulfur gas snaked its way into her nostrils. _These conditions are not ideal for an aerial battle. Our skills will surely be tested,_ she said somberly.

 _Have there been any reports as to which Rider accompanied the battalions? I sensed the Rider and their dragon the moment we arrived, but I hadn't heard anything yet,_ Eragon said. They sat at the edge of the Varden's camp, staring over the emptiness of no-man's-land to the enemy armies beyond. It was night, and the only other people awake were those soldiers who were on guard.

 _The Rider has managed to remain hidden,_ Saphira replied with a low hiss. _But I can sense their power. Have you thought_ — _?_

 _That it might be my brother?_ he cut her off, not unkindly. _Of course I have._

 _Does it not concern you?_ She ruffled her wings agitatedly, creating quite the draft that washed over Eragon where he sat leaning against her foreleg.

Eragon shifted his shoulders in an imitation of her action, though he didn't realize he was doing it. They were so connected after nearly six years as a bonded pair, that they hardly noticed anymore when they did such things. _It concerns me,_ he replied begrudgingly, _but I am not afraid to face him. Murtagh and his dragon may be older, and slightly more experienced than us, but I am confident in our abilities._

 _The-old-one-Brom tells me that the-dark-traitor-king may have employed black magic to aid in their training._ Saphira snorted slightly to add emphasis to her point, but Eragon couldn't help smiling.

 _You have been conversing very much with my father?_ he asked pointedly. _Tell me, what else does he say?_

 _That you are brash and foolhardy in battle._

 _Well,_ Eragon said with a slight chuckle, _he's not wrong there._ Absentmindedly, he fingered the sapphire set into the pommel of his sword. Rhunön had reworked an old Rider blade for him right before he'd left Ellesméra, three months ago. It had taken some time for him to get used to the sword, but now... Now it felt like an extension of his own arm.

 _And that it will likely get you killed one day,_ Saphira continued. _He says I must watch you carefully, to ensure your safety._ She nudged him slightly on the shoulder, though it still knocked him forward. Sometimes, Saphira didn't know her own strength.

Eragon turned back towards her with a smile, and reached up a hand to caress her warm snout. _You do that anyways,_ he quipped back. _Father may not think we are ready for this fight, but I know we are._

 _So do I, little one,_ the dragoness replied fondly. _So do I..._

* * *

In the heat of battle, Eragon and Saphira had never felt more alive. They'd been involved in battles before—such as the one under Farthen Dûr—but all their years of training with his father and Oromis had been leading to this moment. Saphira twisted and turned through the air with an effortless grace, taking care to remain below the smoke cloud. If they ventured too close to it, the noxious fumes would cloud their vision and choke their lungs; that was something they could not afford.

Down below, the scorched earth was nearly invisible with the amount of people treading overtop of it. Some still fought their opponents; some had already lost their battles, and were staring at the black clouds above with wide eyes glassed over by death.

Saphira loosed a jet of bright, blue flame into the ranks of Imperial soldiers, scattering those that could jump out of the way, and crisping those that could not. He could feel her triumph seeping into him as they glided over the soldiers, their wards protecting them from the arrows being shot their way.

 _What human could hope to combat against a dragon?_ she called triumphantly, letting out a ferocious roar.

Saphira swooped low at Eragon's behest, extending her massive paws so that when they sped over the enemy combatants, her deadly sharp claws raked through their lines and created chaos amongst the soldiers. This time, it was Eragon who wore a satisfied smirk.

 _Eragon!_ The young Rider balked at the sudden intrusion, but relaxed almost immediately as he recognized the familiar presence.

 _What is it, Father? What's happened?_ Saphira was circling back around to bathe the Imperial soldiers in another wash of flame, roaring loudly as she did so.

 _Come back to the rear,_ Brom said hurriedly. Eragon didn't understand why his father wanted them to return, but he did not argue. He relayed the message to Saphira, and she obliged, albeit begrudgingly.

They were crossing the field of fighters at a break-neck pace, Saphira pumping her huge wings steadily. That's when they heard it.

A fearsome roar split the air, gaining terrified glances from more than a few of the Varden's soldiers. Eragon turned in the saddle, looking back at the camp of Morzan's men. It didn't take long before he caught a glimpse of red scales; muted in the smoke-covered sunlight, but unmistakable nonetheless.

Eragon directed his thoughts towards his father. _Is it_ — _?_

 _No, it isn't Morzan,_ Brom replied quickly to the both of them, and Eragon could tell the old man was on edge. Eragon hadn't been worried about Morzan showing his face here, but his fears had been confirmed all the same.

 _Then it's Murtagh..._

 _Aye,_ Brom said, _it's your brother. Eragon, Saphira... be careful._

Eragon's blood was pounding through his veins, but Saphira sent him feelings of comfort. _Hold fast, Eragon,_ she said, angling her wing sharply so they were turning back towards the enemy camp. By the time they faced it completely, the huge, crimson dragon was hovering in the sky above the smattering of tents. Blood-red eyes stared them down, and Eragon felt a menacing aura surrounding the pair of them.

So this was his brother.

They'd never met before, and Eragon only had Brom's tales and teachings to go off of. Still, he knew very little about this mysterious brother of his. Only that their mother had been tricked by Morzan, and had run away at her first opportunity, after she'd learned she was pregnant with him. But she'd left Murtagh behind... Eragon didn't pretend to know the reasons why, but he couldn't help feeling a little guilty all the same that he had been spared the dark fate that had befallen his brother.

Murtagh's red dragon was not much older than Saphira—only about eight years old—and was roughly the same size as her. Their battle would be evenly matched, as far as their dragons went. Eragon only hoped their skills with magic and with the blade were evenly matched as well.

 _Are you ready?_ he asked Saphira, trying to keep his thoughts as steadfast as he could. But he could not help the nervousness that was seeping out of him.

 _We must be,_ she replied stoically.

The time for words was over. Saphira pushed forward with her powerful wings, hurtling towards the other Rider and dragon. The other pair began to move as well, aiming to meet them head-on in the middle of the field. The closer the brothers drew to one another, the more nervous Eragon became. He reached to his side, drawing Brisingr from its sheath on his hip, and raising it above his head. He only hoped the sight was more threatening than he felt.

In an instant, the two dragons met in a flurry of slashing claws and gnashing teeth, jolting their Riders upon the impact. Eragon gripped the saddle tightly with a gloved hand, though he knew he could not fall out with his legs strapped securely in. This close, the red dragon seemed somehow larger than before, and Eragon could now notice there was a marked difference between the two dragons.

His gaze shifted to the Rider upon the red beast's back, and he was surprised to find his brother wore a full suit of armor, including a helm which completely concealed his face. He was slightly irritated at not being able to look his brother in the eye, but he was bound and determined not to let it faze him.

Saphira recoiled suddenly, back-flapping while clawing viciously at the red dragon's underbelly and letting out a jet of flame, concealing the pair behind a wash of blue fire.

 _He is strong,_ Saphira said, and Eragon could feel her worry. _They are protected by wards, too. This battle will be a long one indeed._

 _Then we must do something to shorten it,_ Eragon said quickly. Saphira darted back towards the other dragon, snapping her teeth at the base of its neck but just barely missing. But instead of drawing back to try again, Saphira pushed forward and around the other dragon's neck, gnashing her fangs at the Rider in his saddle. The red dragon was caught off guard, Eragon could tell. But it didn't stay that way for long. It buffeted its wings wildly and raked its claws along Saphira's foreleg, pulling away and circling around to try and get behind them.

As the red dragon began its circular maneuver, Eragon lashed out with Brisingr at his brother, gritting his teeth when the two blades meet in a jarring crash. He looked, and realized that his brother also carried the blade of a Rider; one as red as freshly spilt blood. Their blades disconnected as swiftly as they'd come together, the red dragon having pulled away completely and separating the brothers.

Suddenly, Eragon could feel a mounting pressure at the base of his skull. He knew this was his brother, trying to test his mental prowess. Whatever Murtagh had been aiming to discover, Eragon was sure he would be disappointed. From the time he was a little boy, he had trained with some of the Varden's best magicians—not to mention his own father—in how to shield his mind from would-be attackers. The defenses around his mind were iron-hard, combed over time and time again by his teachers to try and find any weakness or hole through which to gain entry. Every time they had discovered a chink in his mental armor, Eragon had trained that much harder to defend himself.

The two dragons came together once more in a flash of scales, and Eragon pushed back on his brother's mind. For an instant, he thought he could just feel Murtagh's surprise. But it was fleeting, and his brother's own defenses were soon closed against him. It seemed neither would gain any ground there; they were both extremely powerful, and neither would be easily subdued by the other's mind.

 _Saphira,_ Eragon said quickly, _is there any way to move this fight lower to the ground? Our mental abilities are too evenly matched, and your wards will begin to fade soon. I fear the only way to decide this battle is with the blade._

 _I will try to draw him down, little one,_ Saphira replied. Her jaws finally locked onto the red dragon's throat, drawing a terrible cry and a bolt of blistering, red flames from its jaws. _Hold on!_ Saphira cried.

Eragon felt her go limp beneath him, aiming to use her weight against the red dragon. With the full force of Saphira's weight dragging him down, the red dragon was struggling to keep itself in the air. Eragon could see the dragon straining against her, but they were slowly losing altitude.

It was hard to hear above the sounds of the wind and the din of battle, but Eragon could just make out some muffled shouting. And then a ball of red flame was hurtling towards them from Murtagh's outstretched arm. Reflexively, he lifted an arm to shield his face, but his wards protected both of them. The flames washed over them harmlessly and then dissipated. Saphira was unfazed, and she kept her grip on the red dragon's throat, even as it kicked at her belly viciously with its back legs.

Eragon reached into the sapphire pommel of his blade, drawing on the vast stores of energy he kept within it. "Deloi, rïsa!" he cried, and his command was quickly followed by a low rumbling from beneath them. Suddenly, a chunk of earth and rock flew past him and smashed into the red dragon's wing, drawing from it a terrible roar. Its wings ceased to beat for just the slightest moment, but it was enough. Saphira's weight had suddenly become too much, and the two dragons, along with their Riders, began to plummet towards the earth.

Dust and stone flew into the air when the dragons made impact with the ground, jarring Eragon's bones and throwing him forward in the saddle. His legs ached as they strained against the saddle, but he did not come loose, thank the stars. Saphira rolled onto her belly to avoid crushing her Rider, and Eragon quickly freed himself from the leather straps, never lowering his blade. The blue brightsteel seemed to shimmer in the filtered light of the early morning, like lake-water rippling after a stone has disturbed it.

Saphira suddenly jumped forward, and Eragon could hear the two dragons still clawing at one another, kicking up more dust into the air and clouding his vision. "Rydja vindr," he whispered, and the dust cleared so he could see more than three feet in front of him. But he was not quick enough.

Sparks flew when their two blades connected, and Eragon felt himself being pushed back in the loose soil of the Burning Plains. He braced the hilt of his sword against his chest to try and counterbalance, but Murtagh was strong, and Eragon could feel the fury coming off of him. Finally, Eragon found a foothold in some rockier ground, and was able to push back against the other Rider, separating them.

They stood a few feet apart, blades still raised in case the other decided to attack. Eragon took a moment to inspect his brother, though his defenses never waned. He knew Murtagh was three years older than himself, but they were of a similar height; no more than two inches separated them. Murtagh was slightly broader in the shoulders, and looked to carry more muscle. But under all that armor, it was hard to tell.

"At least do me the courtesy of looking me in the eye," Eragon growled in anger, stepping slightly to his left. He noticed Murtagh tilt his head almost imperceptibly, the way a dog does when you whistle at it. But, finally, Murtagh reached up a gauntleted hand and grasped the edge of his helm, slipping it up and over his head and discarding it in the grass a few feet away.

He was not at all what Eragon expected, and the younger boy had to take care that his surprise did not show on his face. Where Eragon had his own father's chestnut hair and dark brown eyes, Murtagh was the spitting image of his father. At least, from what Eragon knew of Brom's descriptions of Morzan. Locks of raven hair that reached to his collar framed a straight jaw, heavy brow, and intense, grey eyes. His mouth was set into a grim line, and Eragon could tell he had not had much cause to smile over his eighteen years of life. His armor was enameled black, with silver etchings of complicated filigree around the edges; an expensive set, and it had been made specifically for him. Altogether, Eragon thought he had a dark, severe look about him.

"Surprised by what you see, _brother_?" Murtagh asked coldly. Eragon was taken aback by the pure hatred he could hear in his brother's voice. It shouldn't have come as a surprise though; Morzan would have raised his son to hate and despise his younger brother. _The one our mother chose to save, abandoning you..._ Eragon banished the thought as soon as it entered his mind.

"You don't have to do this, Murtagh," Eragon called. He wasn't sure why the words came out of his mouth, but he knew they came from a deep-rooted desire to atone for the atrocities his brother had endured. And perhaps it stemmed from the guilt he felt.

Murtagh laughed cruelly, an unnatural and harsh sound. "You don't know what you're talking about," the older boy responded when his mirthless laughter had subsided. Behind him, Eragon saw the two dragons circling one another, crouching low to the ground and emitting low hisses from their throats.

 _Try not to hurt him,_ Eragon said to Saphira. _I don't want to do either of them harm._ She did not respond with words, but he felt her agreement all the same.

"There's no need to worry about your dragon hurting Thorn," Murtagh sneered, as if he had heard Eragon's thoughts. "He has trained against far more fearsome opponents than Saphira."

"How do you know my dragon's name?" Eragon demanded, crossing his sword over his body to get into a better position. Brom had taken such care over the years, to conceal Eragon and Saphira's existence as dragon and Rider. By all rights, Murtagh should know nothing more than what Morzan's generals had gleaned in the midst of battle.

"It seems I know more about you than you do about me, Eragon." Murtagh began to step to his right slowly, and Eragon followed suit, so that the two Riders mirrored their dragons. "Like how I know that you think you can _save_ me," the older boy sneered malevolently. "As if I needed saving from the likes of you."

"That is your father talking," Eragon shot back.

"What do you know of my father!" Murtagh's sudden vehemence worried Eragon, and he was beginning to think things were not as simple as he'd first believed.

"My father told me—" He was quickly cut off by Murtagh's laughter.

"Lies, all of it," he said, his brow furrowing even further than it already was. "Your father has told you only what he wants you to know of the world. You don't know anything, Eragon. The old Order was corrupt; the same Order your father belonged to, and still fervently defends. The leaders wished to keep all the power for themselves, sharing none of it with the people who needed it."

"People like your father?" Eragon growled angrily. He wouldn't listen to this; it wasn't true!

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. You've been lied to your whole life, Eragon. If you surrender now, and come with me, I promise no harm will come to you, or your dragon." Suddenly, Murtagh's hand-and-a-half sword dropped to his side and he extended a hand out towards his younger brother.

For a moment, everything seemed to still around him, and Eragon felt himself relax. Could... could Murtagh be telling the truth?

That moment was all Murtagh needed. Quick as a flash of lightning, he vaulted forward, his crimson sword raised and ready to attack in a vicious arc. But he underestimated how quick his brother was, and Eragon was swiftly dodging the surprise attack. He growled angrily at his own stupidity in believing the farce his brother had presented, and was quickly back into his battle mindset.

Their swords came together in swift combinations of strikes, jabs, blocks, parries, swipes... Everything Eragon had ever learned was being put to the test in this duel. As surprising as it was, their skills seemed evenly matched. Even the quality of their blades was near identical. Eragon's sword had been forged more recently, that much was evident to him. And it seemed to be the only thing helping him. Every time Murtagh went to lock his blade against Eragon's crossguard, it invariably slipped.

They went on like this for some time, while their dragons battled in the background. When he could spare an instant, Eragon would check on Saphira. She was a fierce fighter, and was holding her own against the older dragon.

Throughout the course of the duel, Eragon kept siphoning little pieces of energy from his sapphire pommel when he needed a boost. Murtagh was obviously using the ruby in the pommel of his own sword, but he seemed to be sustaining his energy far better than Eragon. Perhaps he had a gem inlaid somewhere in his armor... that, or some black magic was fueling him.

After what seemed an hour, Eragon could see no end to the fight. They tired at the same rate, and their skills were dead even. It seemed Eragon would need to resort to underhanded techniques to win this fight.

"Brisingr!" he suddenly cried, and his sword burst into blue flames in his hands. Murtagh was caught off-guard, as Eragon knew he would be. Eragon also knew that he could not waste this opportunity. He'd gained the upper hand; now he needed to capitalize.

With a vicious set of attacks—both with his blade and his magic—Eragon surged forward, effectively pushing Murtagh out of the small ring they'd created with their circling footsteps. Now that the tables had turned, Murtagh was struggling to keep up with Eragon's attacks, and Eragon knew his brother's strength was flagging. But what did not wane was the pure hatred in his brother's eyes, boring into his skull and seeming to burn into his very soul.

As Eragon backed his brother further away from the circle, Murtagh stumbled upon the loose, mossy soil, and Eragon saw his chance. He shouted, "Thrysta!" and Murtagh fell to his back, quickly raising his sword to defend himself. But it was too late; the point of Eragon's sword rested at the hollow of his throat, the blue flames licking hungrily at his tanned skin. What little remained of his wards protected Murtagh from any burns, but Eragon could tell it would not be long before they were gone completely. Saphira blocked Thorn from rushing to his Rider's aid, biting and clawing his legs and face every time he tried to move around her.

"You have lost, brother," Eragon said quietly through his labored breaths. But his voice was not triumphant. "Let me help you, Murtagh. Join us; leave your father."

A flicker of uncertainty passed over Murtagh's face, and it did not go unnoticed by Eragon. But then, the Red Rider said in a venomous tone, "I could not leave him, even if I wanted to, Eragon _Shadeslayer._ What a pitiful excuse for a Rider you are, brother. You may have won this day, but it will not happen the next time. We will meet again, and when we do, I will make you pay. My father may want you alive, but I do not. Remember that."

A spike of pain suddenly pierced Eragon's mind, and his victorious stance faltered slightly. A cloud seemed to come over his vision, and a high, keening whine filled his ears, only adding to the pain in his head. Murtagh opened his mouth to shout something, but it was not his own voice that burst forth from his throat. It was more of a hiss, amplified tenfold and seeming to fill Eragon's whole being. Murtagh's face took on a twisted look, as though a shadow was overtaking him. He didn't even look like the same person anymore... "Taka nosu eom könungr!" the voice boomed.

Light blinded him, and Eragon raised a hand to shield his eyes. When the spots cleared from his vision, and he could see clearly once more, Murtagh was nowhere to be found. What's more than that, the gigantic red dragon was gone as well. It was as if they had disappeared into the air itself.

 _Saphira_ — _?_

 _I do not know, little one,_ she cut him off, turning wildly in a circle in her own search for her adversary.

 _Then I am not imagining it..._ Eragon said this more to himself than to her, but she assured him all the same. His dark eyes lifted to the sky, but if they were there, they must have been above the cloudbank; he could not make out anything beyond the smoky clouds.

The battle still raged on around them, though Eragon could tell it was winding down, in their favor. It seemed reinforcements had arrived in the form of his cousin Roran. His father found him when it was done, and Eragon assured him he was fine. He was, at least outwardly so. Inside was a different story.

The conflict with his brother had unnerved him. Murtagh was so different than what he'd always imagined, both in appearance and demeanor. Eragon had always believed that Murtagh would hate working for the king. At least, Eragon thought he would if he knew the real truth, not the twisted version he'd likely been fed since birth. But the opposite had turned out to be true. Murtagh did not seem to hate his father at all. If anything, he seemed to be in total agreement with the king.

No, not _total_ agreement. There had been a moment, in the midst of their fight, that Eragon had witnessed the doubt flicker across his brother's face. And in that moment, Eragon knew that he needed to exploit that doubt, in any way that he could, if he ever wished to save his brother, and his dragon. He didn't believe that his mother had willingly abandoned Murtagh to Morzan. Something must have happened that prevented her from doing so. Eragon would find out what, and then he would accomplish what his mother could not. He would save his brother, even if he died trying.

* * *

 **Thank you all for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, be it constructive criticism/advice, or joyous praise. If you all are interested, I have started a full-on series that is centered around this same AU idea, with a few minor tweaks. If you'd like to read it, head on over to my profile and check out "Night of the Hunter". Thanks again!**


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